


Memories from the Cursed Annals

by ZorialDiamond



Series: The Ivanov Curse [6]
Category: Runescape
Genre: A Collection of Drabbles, F/M, Gen, Ship: Mad Love, a date in a war zone, first person musings, headcanons ahoy, hooray I'm actually importing stuff go me, reminiscing and musing over tea, someone give Silvy a hug in current year pls ;-;, undead family reunions (sort of)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-15 17:46:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZorialDiamond/pseuds/ZorialDiamond
Summary: Small pieces may not be much on their own, but together, much like a mosaic, a picture greater than the sum of its parts is formed.





	1. Tea in the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a collection of various ficlets and one-shots too small to be their own standalone story. Some are newer, some are imports from Tumblr that I've reworked and edited a bit based on improved writing and changed headcanons. I'll try my best to keep them organized but I make no promises. I hope you enjoy!

“It is good to see you again, my friend Gregorovic.”

Another meeting in the dark shadowed catacombs of the Barrows. A tea kettle bubbled nearby as a waft of steam rose from the spout. Nearby sat two cups, emblazoned with a mask, with the scraps of herbs that looked as dark as the shadows nearby.

The only light source, besides the fire heating the tea, was a lantern on a surprisingly finely carved table. One which two individuals were sat at. Both sat in degrees of fine attire; one, a surprisingly well-tailored grey suit, the other, purple robes with trimmings of red and ochre. The man in the grey suit glanced over at the tea kettle; the fire glanced off his monocles and he adjusted his hat.

“Greetings to you as well, Sliske.” He glanced back, speaking in a cold, almost monotone voice. “The experimentation as of late is quite promising. Yes, the problem must be one of biological efficiency. The body simply lacks the materials and capacity to cure this.”

“Interesting, interesting.” Sliske responded, jovially. “And do tell, how do you plan to correct this deficiency?”

“It is rather simple. I have been testing a process. A process to augment the human body with more living material. It does require donors, however.” He said, glancing about the room, and at the tea. The steam rose, and soon the kettle whistled and shattered the silence.

“Ahhh, the tea is done.” Sliske got up, then pouring a glass for himself and for his guest. The liquid was steaming hot, and almost black, but undeniably aromatic. Gregorovic took one of the teacups, holding it up to his nose and breathing in the scent deeply.

“I hope I got close to how dear Caroline liked to make it. I am...sorry she has been distant from you.” Sliske said, sounding almost but not quite sympathetic.

“I could not wish for a more loyal soul.” He spoke, flatly, then sipping the tea and letting the heat and aroma fill his being. “Back to business. I have perfected the technique of transfer. Ordinarily, any material from a foreign body will get eaten alive by the new host’s defenses.  But, there are concoctions which can decrease these defenses. As such, it makes the transfer of said material possible.”

Sliske leaned in, tea in hand, yet not actually drinking any. “Interesting! Very interesting indeed. Have you tried this transfer on any subjects yet?”

“I have, yes, with Caroline’s help. First I tried replacing a faulty organ in one of the subjects. While there was substantial recovery, it was marvelously successful. He simply needed to keep taking the suppressant mixture for it to take.” He sipped more tea as he spoke. “However, he shortly started becoming more prone to disease. I must be more careful of this.”

“Brilliant as always, Gregorovic.”

“That did not mean there were no failures, however. Many subjects perished while I perfected the process.” He sipped more tea, almost too casually.”  
  
“I see. Can’t let some blood get in the way of progress, eh, my old friend?”

“...Indeed.” Another sip.

There was some silence. Another sip of tea. Gregorovic observed the cup; it was half-empty. It was good, yes, but not with the same sense of familiarity as times past. Not prepared with the same cheer Caroline had. A cheer that he saw fade from her gradually. No, it wasn’t the same. It was too dark and murky for that.

“Is something bothering you?” Sliske said, inquisitively.

“...Carson. He left.” A rare wisp of emotion rose in his voice. “He said he didn’t want to see me or Caroline ever again.”

There was stillness. Stillness as the weight of the words set in.

 

 

Some years later, soon he was having tea with another individual.

“It is good to see you again, my son, my blood.”

The same Barrows. The same stove, boiling tea. Only now, it was a familiar smell. A slightly more earthy smell, but still a familiar smell.

Caroline’s tea.

And through the generations passed, some quirk of inheritance had brought him back. He had mused on it before, but the wonder didn’t seem to fade.

The mannequin passed him a mask-emblazoned cup, while taking one for himself. The now undead Caroline smiled from the doorway before leaving them alone.

“Hello again, father.” His eyes were emotionless, flat, glowing with unlife.

Silvarius sipped the tea. A warm, inviting smell, a warm taste as it went down. Yet nothing, it seemed, could warm the chill that set in his now undead soul. The monster across from him smiled. It seemed odd that he should still even desire tea.

“Your mother made this for us. How are you settling in?” Gregorovic leaned in, smiling.

“....Well enough,” Silvarius replied in a flat voice, glancing away from him. The tea warmed his body, but he still felt cold and dead.

The familiar tousled, slightly curled hair. The long face with high cheekbones. The dark eyes, the lanky and nimble form. It was all so familiar despite the generations. Before, he had left, but now another so much like him sat across from him. His wife was with them. Despite everything, his family was together again.

Sliske had not only saved him from the shadow of death; he saved them too. Together forever. Together in undeath.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little ficlet was in part inspired by [this image](http://zorialdiamond-blog.tumblr.com/post/162251087401/ah-yes-my-good-friend-gregorovic-its-a-shame) I made a little while back. I've actually had this sitting in a GoogleDoc for a while but now I'm getting around to posting it proper, heh.
> 
> I mainly focused on the sort of relationship Sliske and Greg had before he got turned; there's implications both in TOTGW and Endgame that there was some extended relationship between Sliske and Greg long before that point, and I wanted to speculate on what that was like. I find it interesting that Sliske calls him an "old friend"; perhaps that's what led Greg to walk into hell with his eyes wide open, essentially. I also find it interesting that even as he calls Greg a monster, that he still had some humanity left in him. I like how Greg's specifically a human monster; I think that's part of why I find him so interesting and that's part of what inspired me to take this the way I did. That and he's just fun to write. XD
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, and feel free to leave feedback if you wish!
> 
> ~soli deo gloria~


	2. The Prodigal Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a strange reunion when time brings back one that should have been lost.

In a moment, he was transformed. How ironic, that among his prowls it would be his own flesh and blood that opposed him, that gave him the most pause. The genius, the skill had not been lost over the generations. Yes, he was far too valuable to simply consume.

His face, that face, brought broken memories back.

An infant. A small child. Her curly hair. His own high cheekbones. And even, a peculiar smell to his blood. There were different types of blood humans possessed. Some interacted well, some would tear the person apart if the wrong one was transfused. But his own blood, he had never found other with a smell and taste quite like it. Until now.

He never saw that face again. Yet, in this hunter, this now newly transformed wight in his spindly arms, seemed to be a strange grace. The boy, Silvarius, said nothing. He simply hung limp, a dead look in his eyes that didn’t just come from his new unlife.

It was the first time he had done as Sliske newly asked him.

_Build me an army. A collection. I know you can do it well; you have quite the eye for talent, my good friend Gregorovic._

_Ahehehehe, yes, my master._

The first one. The first one he found. Fittingly, his own, as per the clarification of the deal. As far as Sliske was concerned, his progeny were an extension of him in body and soul, and therefore worthy of being saved from the shadow of death. 

It was only logical that he should have a mark of his special status. In his resurrection he infused in him some of the shadow magic he was given, what he had cultivated until then. That left a peculiar mark on Silvarius’s undead form. Dark clawed hands and spindly arms that resembled the ones Sliske made for him replaced the human ones. The blood from the wounds he had inflicted changed from crimson red to a black ichor, not even entirely corporeal. 

But, there was a crowd gathering, looking for him.

He made use of the shadows, returning to the crypt where he had been reborn. Yes, this rebirth, that was his birthright. His inheritance. What better gift to give than power and eternal life as he had? To free him from a life of scraping by and fearing for his life?

Yes, this would be a surprise of an unlife.

“Caroline, my love, my heart….” He smiled as he returned, approaching the chambers where he and his undead wife stayed within the manifold chambers in the Barrows.

“Greggie, you’re back!” A singsongy voice responded, waving at him from the corridor.

“Ahehehehee……I have a surprise.” He could not stop the smile from widening.

“What is………..!!!!” Her eyes went wide looking at the man in her husband’s arms. She saw it. She saw what he saw. “Is….that…”

“Ahehehehe, yes, Carol. _Our_  blood. One of the many hunters that tried to defeat me. The finest of any I have faced, in fact.” A hearty chuckle, though one that was more subtle than his usual mad cackling.

“G-Greggie…” The memories woke in her as well. But, sad ones came as well. A scorning, angry face. Walking away. One he delivered and raised himself. Eyes judging his experiments 

_I never want to see you or your monster of a husband ever again._

She walked over to him. She ran her fingers through his tangled, silver hair. She noticed and grasped his hands.

“What is his name?” She asked, eyes filled with wonder and even a bit of disbelief at what she was seeing.

“Silvarius.”

She had never seen him again, and he passed on. But…in some strange way, he came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted to Tumblr 8 months ago (as of posting this chapter on December 16th, 2017) but the import kinda borks with Tumblr stuff so I had to post it fresh.
> 
> This one is similar to the last drabble in that it explores Greg's reasoning for taking Silvy to his new "home" and both he and Carol's reactions to it all. As well as them memories. I'd say Greg/Carol and Silvy are around 4-5 generations removed, so it would have been some time since then and he's had a lot of time to stew on it. Also, a bit of Mad Love here. I love this little rarepair I've spawned.
> 
> Poor Carson. Heck, if I found out my parents were doing horribly unethical experiments I'd probably want to ditch them too. 
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed it and thanks for taking the time out to read this!
> 
> ~soli deo gloria~


	3. Reminiscing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No place is a bad place when one is together with their beloved. Even if that place so happens to be a war zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Some optional BGM for this piece: []())

“Caroline…my love, my heart….” **  
**

The same phrase, reedier and higher than in centuries past. Now that their master was gone, they had a chance to reflect on the time gone by.

For whatever reason, Sliske had decided to include a large amount of chocolate cakes in the rations of the soldiers, likely to boost morale on the battlefield. In any case, Carol held and was consuming one now. She sat cross legged, across from Sliske’s most terrifying and monstrous general, whose teeth were presently red with elven blood. She had fetched both fixings, the cake and the fallen Cywir soldier herself, like she had always done.

“Don’t mention it, Greggie. Hee hee hee!” She smiled broadly, stuffing another slice of cake in her mouth while her husband followed likewise with his meal.

“Ahehehehe….Now that Master is gone, we can do as we please, Caroline.” He said, licking the blood from around his mask. “Think about it…Freedom!” He grinned widely, letting out his signature peal of mad laughter. It sent chills through his preys’ spines, but flutters through his wife’s stomach.

“That’s true, Greggie! I don’t have to stick around on the platform all day! I can always be with you, hee hee hee!” Apparently one benefit of being undead was not having to watch her diet and weight; she shoved another slice of cake into her mouth.

“Indeed…but why leave here? I still smell the power of the armies coursing out over the field, and of their generals…If I could drool, Caroline…” He stared out across the cavern of the Heart, relishing the sounds and screams of battle like fine music. He simply had to lurk long enough until the right time. Two of the generals would get into a scuffle. He would wait in the wings. They would wear one another down.

Then…he would  _feast._

“Greggie, I was thinking….we could visit the old place in the swamp! Where we worked together… It could just be for a little while…” She said, piping up. Now the cake she was consuming was half gone.

“Ahehehe…it’s probably worn away by now, dear Caroline. It has been centuries, after all.” He replied, chuckling a bit nervously.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t reminisce.” She cooed, then reaching out for her husband’s chin. She gave it a slight scratch. The smile on the mask widened, and Gregorovic’s head inclined upward a bit. He emitted an odd purrlike sound, as if suddenly he were a mere housecat.

“And maybe we can get a bit more variety in that diet of yours, hmm? She said, continuing to scratch as the purring noise got deeper and the undead mannequin appeared to relax.

“Ahehehee….I like the way you think, my dear wife.” He reached out one spindly, gangly arm and booped her on the nose with his claws. A purplish blush filled her undead cheeks as she giggled, seemingly delirious from his affection.

“Sometime soon then?” She said.

“Of course.”

The two streams of laughter melded together and echoed out over the Necropolis. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted about 9 months ago on Tumblr as of 12/16/2017. Yay getting around to more importing!
> 
> Some adorable Mad Love art for your consideration:  
> [If Greg and Carol were a battle couple (and also a random Nomad chibi)](http://zorialdiamond-blog.tumblr.com/post/158251507161/some-pictures-i-drew-to-cheer-up)  
> [Carol's got 99 cooking in Greg's eyes (by Naughtex on Tumblr)](https://naughtex.tumblr.com/post/158484643767/mad-love-doodle-for-zorialdiamond-blog-greg)
> 
> Well hey, I finally post something that's actually in the dang Heart this time, and it's a bit of Mad Love fluff. The pair's both adorable and unsettling, and I think I enjoy the ship because of that cognitive dissonance. Also, Beauty and the Beast type ships are something I'm a sucker for. 
> 
> The idea of Carol occasionally sneaking off to visit her hubby in the Necropolis (with a snack sometimes) was inspired by [this](https://saxspielercaderface.tumblr.com/post/154467715061/fic-dinner-date) fic from SaxSpieler. 
> 
> I don't really have much to say this time - thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> ~soli deo gloria~


	4. Contradictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Centuries alone in dark corridors leave a man, no, a wight, much time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping around to likely sometime in the Fourth Age, I wanted to get inside the head of my sadboi a bit because I'm down the OC rabbit hole at the moment, so I decided to write a short drabble about him musing on things during the many, many hours he has to kill down in the deeper part of the Barrows. We've had some thoughts from Greg's perspective on the whole ordeal, now we look at the functional protagonist of this tale...

_ The centuries I have spent here leave a man, no, a wight, much time to think. It is not terribly ideal if you wish to  _ **_avoid_ ** _ thinking. I cherish the memories of the days of light as much as I can to keep them from fading to the void time inevitably creates. _

 

_ I do not believe men were built to live as long as necromancy permits. To survive as long as I or the others have without succumbing to madness takes an extraordinary amount of will. _

 

_ Here in the silent moments,  _ **_that_ ** _ face assets itself in my mind. The almost featureless mask adorned with gems, concealing the teeth of a beast. I feel the metaphysical strings in my soul, the ones that bind me to my master. Right now, they are loose, but I know that at any moment they can compel me to do anything they wish, regardless of my objections. _

 

_ This was all because of you. All because you sold yourself away, and in yourself, you sold us. I despise you. You are a monster, body and soul. Some are born monstrous and cannot help it; you chose to become so and are all the more guilty. _

_   
_ _ In one night, you destroyed everything. Everything I thought and believed, my own life, everything I thought was true of myself. You desecrated me, body and soul, forming me in your own monstrous image. And then you spit further in the wounds by erasing the lives that were left.  _

 

_ No, it was my fault. I should never have led you to them. _

 

_ For what reason did you take me? For what purpose? To make a puppet, a slave much like you? I highly doubt it is love, or else time has twisted what you believe it is so badly that your inner voice of conscience has been replaced with nothing but a possessive hunger. _

 

_ And yet…. _

 

**_And yet…_ **

 

_ I still feel a bond to you. Some twisted sense of loyalty I feared to admit to myself before now. To the one I was forced to call and now willingly call ‘Father’, despite all he has done to me. Who truly brought me into this world has faded with time. The Hunters were as good as kin as any, and now they are gone. The world despises and rejects me now as nothing more than an abomination. I still pray as some way to avoid madness, but I always fear it falls on deaf ears. _

 

_ It is a despairing fate, yet you, your wife, my brothers and sisters in chains are all I have left now.  _

 

_ Nowhere else to go, no place to call my own, pulled back by puppet strings should I decide to flee. These catacombs, the halls of home. This crypt, this coffin, this chamber, my bed. _

 

_ I will likely never say these things to you. There is no sense in arguing with you, mad as you are. I learned long ago defiance was a pointless endeavor. Not even death is an escape here. You will simply drag me back from the underworld again, and I will have no peace.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say this time, other than someone give Silvy a break and a hug, pls. Thanks for reading as always! 
> 
> ~soli deo gloria~


End file.
